Sometime during the night, Lyle rolled to the other side of the bed;
and, half awake, I rolled over on my side facing the window with my
back to Lyle. Blinking to clear my vision, I tried to
calculate what time it was from the pale early morning light that was
filtering around the edges of the blinds. "It must be about five
or six o'clock," I thought, pulling the blanket over my naked
shoulders and snuggling down into the bed even though there was the
vague hint of a
tell-tale morning pressure in my bladder. I felt myself slipping
back
into the comfortable fog of slumber when I heard a light scratching at
the door and Dalton's voice asking, "Carl, may I come in; I need to
use the can?"

"Jesus," I groused, stretching my arm out and groping for the light
switch on the small lamp beside the bed, almost knocking it over.
"Come on," I said, finding the switch and turning the light on.

Lyle, grumbling some unintelligible obscenity, pulled the blanket over
his head as Dalton, with a towel wrapped around his waist and tucked in
to hold it up, entered the room followed by Tip clutching his towel
tightly around his waist.

"Sorry, Carl, I didn't want to disturb you; but I gotta piss real bad,"
he said with Tip chiming in, "Me, too."

"Don't take too long," I growled as I sat up on the edge of the bed,
the
urgency in my bladder suddenly increasing at the suggestion.

Twin streams of morning urine striking the water in the commode sounded
like ''Horseshoe Falls'', and a vision of both of them milking their
half-hard cocks flashed though my head as I heard them talking under
their breath and giggling. When they came out of the bathroom,
the
noticeable bulge being covered by their towels verified the accuracy of
my vision.

"All yours, Big Brother," Dalton said looking down at me, his eyes
twinkling with amusement.

"You guys going back to bed?" I asked, the blanket falling away as I
stood up stretching in an effort to wake up completely before going to
the bathroom. My piss hard cock waved gently as I walked, and I
heard a low gasp as I passed in front of Tip and Dalton.

"It's almost eight o'clock, Carl," Dalton said, glancing at my cock
and grinning at me. "Don't you think we should be
getting up?"

"I'm not sure that Lyle is ready to get up," I answered as I went into
the bathroom hearing him grumbling as he said, "Who in the fuck can
sleep with all the yacking going on?"

"Get your ass out of bed, Lyle," Tip said answering his brother.
"We can't stay here all day, Carl and Dalton have things to do, and
besides we better be getting back home."

"What the fuck for?" Lyle replied pulling the blanket around his waist
as he sat up in the bed. "It'll be the same shit as yesterday,
and I'm getting sick of his crap."

"Is that 'crap' the reason you and Tip came out in the downpour
yesterday?" I asked as I re-entered the room.

"Partly," he answered, "but, if you're finished in there, I gotta
piss,"
he said, yawning and stretching as he got out of bed.

Even in a disheveled early morning state Lyle was an impressive
looking young man. HIs smooth lean muscles rippled as he moved
toward the bathroom, his turgid cock bouncing with each step.
Dalton looked at me, his eyes twinkling, as Lyle passed us; and Tip was
wide-eyed at his brother's unabashed display of his nakedness.

For a moment the room went silent until we heard Lyle pissing in the
commode; and then, moving to where I had dropped my briefs, I said,
"Why don't you guys get something on other than those towels."

"I guess we should," Dalton said, glancing at Tip and saying, "Do you
want a pair of my briefs, Tip?"

"If it's okay," Tip answered as he picked up his jeans, turning to look
at Lyle when he heard him say, "Do you have a pair that I can wear,
Carl?"

"Sure do, and it's a little cool in here so you guys better put your
jeans and t-shirts on," I answered, pulling a pair of briefs from my
open suitcase and tossing them to him along with a t-shirt.

For a moment, I felt like I was chaperoning three teenagers, and I
grinned to myself watching them stealing glances at each other as they
hurriedly dressed.

§

I could hear Lyle fussing with Tip about
something while I was washing up, but I couldn't make out what he was
saying. They both looked a little flushed when I came out of the
bathroom, and I could see
Dalton was embarrassed from the way he looked at me, and I asked what
the problem was.

"Oh, nothing, Carl," Lyle answered. "Tip thinks we should go on home
but, I told him there's no reason to just yet."

"There is too, Lyle," Tip said, looking at Lyle, his lower lip
trembling
as he
spoke. "Carl and Dalton have things they want to do, and you know
Dad is gonna be mad at us, especially since we
stayed out all night."

"Good Christ, Tip, don't you think I know that? I know they have
things to do, and I know we can't stay here just because of the old
man. Even if we could stay, I don't give a good fuck what Dad says,"
Lyle answered vehemently; clinching his fists and breathing rapidly
from his anger. "I'm
eighteen, and I don't have to ask his permission to stay out if I want
to, or anything else."

I stood watching and listening nonplused as to exactly what the
trouble was; but, when Tip slouched down on the bed and started to cry,
Dalton sat down beside him putting his arm around Tip's
shoulders. Dalton looked up at Lyle and then at me, his beautiful
brown eyes filled
with compassion.

"Hey now; come on, Lyle; we don't need this," I said, struggling to get
my thoughts together. "Dalt and I don't know what the problem is;
but,
from what you said a minute ago, it must have something to do with your
father. So, instead of ranting at each other about whatever it
is, why don't you guys finish dressing and clean up. I'll start
breakfast while you are doing that, and then we can talk this
out. Is that okay?"

"It's okay with me," Lyle said, grabbing the towel from the back of the
chair where I had hung it. "I ain't in no rush, at least not like
my little brother is," he growled angrily, as he went into the
bathroom.

Tip and Dalton were sitting on the bed with Dalton hugging him
closely. I was confused, and perplexed as to the reasons for
Lyle's sudden angry outburst and his taking it out on
Tip. Glancing quickly in Lyle's direction as he left, I squatted
down in front
of Tip and Dalt; and, placing my hand on Tip's knee, I squeezed gently,
asking,
"Are you
all
right?"

"Yeah," he sniffled, "Lyle don't mean nothing by what he says. He
has a lot on his mind, and sometimes gets upset, that's all."

"Okay," I said, glancing at Dalton, and standing up. "But, as soon as
he is finished, you guys clean up and come on in the kitchen."

"He'll be okay, Carl," Dalton said softly, looking up at me and hugging
Tip's shoulders.

Sucking my gut in, and tucking my t-shirt in, I snapped the waist band
of my jeans shut and,
breathing in deeply, hesitated for a moment before leaving them huddled
together on the bed.

§

The great room and kitchen area were in
a sort of gray semi-darkness, and I turned the lights on. The
coffee
pot was still sitting where we had left it on the counter. While
I was rinsing it out and re-filling it with water, I was trying to
make some sense out of Lyle's angry outburst at Tip. "He
certainly didn't seem upset last night;" I thought to myself as I
measured the coffee and filled the percolator insert.
After plugging the pot into the wall outlet and setting the timer, I
went to the front
door and looked out at the fog -filled landscape. The trees and
bushes were dripping with the moisture from the fog and the ground was
covered with the morning
dew, but Lyle and Tip were more on my mind than the weather.
Lyle
had mentioned something about a "long story," but he hadn't elaborated
on what the story was nor if it was the reason he and Tip had
needed to come to the cottage in a driving rain storm.

The comment that Lyle had made about his age and not needing
his father's permission stuck in my mind. He was eighteen, and
he and I having sex in the privacy of the cottage was okay. On
the other hand though, Tip
was underage, and even though there had been mutual consent between him
and Dalton it didn't alter the fact that they both were minors, and
that could be of concern if they were having troubles with their
father.
"Damn, Carlton, wait until you have the facts, and stop being
paranoid," I said to myself not hearing Lyle come up behind me
until he spoke, surprising me.

"Carl, you aren't mad at me because of the way I talked to Tip
are you?" he asked in an apologetic tone.

"No, Lyle, not really," I answered, startled for a moment before
turning my head to look at
him. My t-shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, but it was
tight enough to
reveal the clean cut
definition of his lean chest muscles and the flatness of his hard
stomach
from the way he had tucked it into the waist band of his
jeans. His auburn hair glistened from being damp, and there was a
soft
doe-like "I'm sorry" look in the depths of his hazel eyes.

"No, Lyle," I repeated, turning and moving back across the room to the
coffee pot with him padding along behind me in his bare feet. "I
don't have any reason to be mad at you," I continued, reaching into the
cupboard for coffee mugs. "But you told Dalton and me that there was a
long story as to why you and Tip came to the cottage in a driving
rainstorm, and you have been
dancing around it ever since you mentioned it."

Lyle stood quietly while I poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to
him. He turned away without saying anything and was spooning an
inordinately large amount of
sugar into his mug and looking for the milk.

"Milk is in the fridge," I said as I went into the living room area of
the
great room, and sat on the couch that Dalton and I had occupied before
they
arrived.

Sipping my coffee, I watched as Lyle finished adding milk and sugar to
his cup, admiring the fluid movement of his back muscles even though he
was wearing one of my t-shirts. His thick auburn hair was shaggy but
closely trimmed to the taper of his neck. He stood facing the
counter sipping his coffee, and I let my eyes roam over the tight
compactness of his lean muscled body, savoring the pleasure of having
introduced him to the more exciting experiences of male sex. An
erotic feeling of reverie settled over me as I sipped my coffee, and I
felt my cock swelling as I mused over the events that had transpired
between us. I was so deep in thought that I didn't realize that
Lyle had moved away from the counter and was standing at the other end
of the couch until he spoke.

"Carl, do you and Dalton get along with your Mom and Dad?" he
asked as
he moved around the end of the couch, and sat down. The sudden
directness of his question shaking me from the thoughtful stupor that I
had fallen into.

"I guess we do, Lyle," I said softly. "But, I've never given it
much thought. Why do you ask?"
I asked, answering his question; but being a little perplexed as to his
reason for asking.

"I was just wondering," he replied, breathing in deeply and hesitating
before asking, "Do they know that you and Dalton are gay?"

"I'm not sure whether they do or not; but it is difficult to know what
parents or anyone thinks about that subject, Lyle," I answered slowly,
watching his facial expressions before continuing. "Most gay
people like to believe that no one knows that they are gay. From
what I have read on the subject and from what some of the people I have
talked with
have told me about their experiences, parents
have a way of knowing without us realizing it."

"I think that maybe our old man suspects Tip and I are," he said,
clutching his mug tightly as he pulled one leg up on the couch and
leaned back against the arm of the couch facing me with one foot on the
floor.

"Would it bother you if he and your mother do suspect that you are?" I
asked, repositioning myself on the couch and
glancing at the impressive bulge confined in the crotch of his
jeans.

"Yes and no, Carl," he answered taking a sip from his mug and then
setting it in the opening between the back of his calf
muscle and his crotch as he continued." I really don't care
whether he
does know that I am gay, but I do worry about what he might do to Tip
if
he finds out Tip is gay after I
join the army and leave him here alone," he said
looking at me, breathing in deeply and sighing almost mournfully as he
exhaled.

The room went quiet, and I could feel the concern and sincerity of
Lyle's worry
about Tip from the way he lowered his head and gazed into his coffee
mug.
The windows of the cottage were brightening as the sun cut through the
morning mist. The muffled tones of Tip and Dalton talking drifted
from the bedroom, and I wondered whether they were having much the
same
conversation as Lyle and I were. Breathing in deeply, I broke the
silence between us and asked, "Has
your dad said anything that would make you believe he suspects you and
Tip are gay?"

"He hasn't said anything outright, Carl. It's just a feeling I
get when
he starts in on us about hanging out together all of the time and
never dating girls," he answered softly, his fingers playing with the
rim of his coffee mug as he was thinking before continuing. "He says
it's not natural for two boys, even brothers, to be together all of the
time, and not show any interest in girls."

"It is natural for him to feel that way, Lyle," I said, glancing up as
Tip and Dalton
entered the room. "Most fathers, and mothers naturally wonder
about those things when they have son's that have reached the age when
they
should be showing an interest in girls, but that does not mean he
suspects you are gay."

"I guess you're right, Carl; but I bet your dad is not like ours," he
said turning his head in the direction I had glanced before continuing.
"When our old man is drinking, he starts in on us about not having
girlfriends; and before long he is giving us smirking looks and talking
about faggots and queers,
and that what they do as not being natural. That's what worries
me."

As I was reflecting on what Lyle had said about his concerns concerning
his
father, Dalton and Tip came in the room glancing at us as they moved
toward the kitchen counter. Shifting the conversation away from
Lyle, I asked Tip, "What do you think about what Lyle has been telling
me, Tip?"

"Not much, Carl. Dad only says those things when he is drunk,
and Lyle knows he won't remember anything about what he said after he
sobers up and goes back to work." Tip said, looking at Lyle as Dalton
handed him a glass of orange juice.

"Is that why you came over here yesterday, your father was
drinking?" I asked as I got up to re-fill my mug.

"Yeah..., partly that," Lyle started to say when Tip interrupted him.

"We wanted to see you and Dalton before you left, and we were gonna
wait until the rain stopped or slacked up first, but Dad started
drinking," Tip answered before
Lyle could say anymore.

"I was gonna tell them that, Tip," Lyle barked angrily.

"Maybe you were, but you always beat around the bush instead of saying
it outright," Tip answered, grinning at Dalton and me.

"You mean that you didn't tell them where you were going or whom you
were going to be with?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee,
and casually leaning against the counter.

"Nah...," Lyle said, hesitating and glancing at Tip as he
answered. "They don't know that we know you and Dalton."

"You haven't told them that you met us?" Dalton asked as I breathed a
sigh of relief.

"Jeepers, no, Dalt. Lyle is right about one thing," Tip said
quickly, glancing at the two of us.
"If we had told them we had met a couple of boys, Dad would have
started asking all kinds of questions about how we had met you, who you
were, and all of that kind of stuff."

"And he would bring it up later when he is drinking," Lyle interjected.

"Is he that bad?" I asked.

"He is when he is drinking and especially when the weather is bad and
he can't work," Tip replied, giving Lyle a worried look.

"What are you going to tell him when you go home, Tip?" Dalton asked,
glancing at Lyle.

"Nothing. It's stopped raining, and he won't be home from work
until late this afternoon or evening," Tip said softly, stopping as
Lyle said. "We'll tell Mom that we stayed with a couple of our
buddies
since it was storming so bad. As long as we don't get into any
trouble, that's usually all she wants to know."

"What does your mother say about his drinking and the way he treats
you and Lyle, Tip?" I asked feeling a little overwhelmed by what they
had said about their father and his drinking.

"She usually takes it in stride as long as Dad is only talking," Lyle
replied. "It's when he starts getting loud and cursing that
she'll tell us to
leave, and she tells him to quiet down. For some reason he does
what she says, and he goes off to bed to sleep it off. Later on,
she will tell us it's liquor talk and not to pay any attention to what
he says."

"Most mother's are that way, and she is probably right," I said,
setting my mug on the counter and saying, "I don't know about you guys,
but I am starved. How about breakfast?"

§

Whipping up a breakfast of ham and
scrambled eggs with toast took only a few minutes. While Lyle and
I fixed breakfast, Tip and Dalton set the small kitchen table for us
and rearranged the living room chairs to face one of the small end
tables for themselves. They were at the giggling and
talking-in-whispers stage that most teen-agers go through. Lyle
would
glance at them every now and then, and after a few minutes of looking
back and forth, he said quietly, "They seem to really like each other."

"Yes," I answered simply without elaboration.

"Do you think they are falling in love?" he asked tentatively.

"In some form, they may be," I replied, noncommittally, glancing over
at Dalton
and Tip who were quietly talking between themselves.

After a few seconds, Lyle leaned closer; and, glancing at Tip and
Dalton, he whispered, "We had sex just like they did; but, I don't feel
like I'm falling in
love with you."

"And you don't understand why they may have feelings for each other,
but
you don't have such feelings for me?" I asked quietly, placing my
utensils on my plate and
taking a sip of my coffee.

"No, I guess I don't. I like you, and I enjoyed having sex with you,
but I don't feel as if I should fall in love with you," he answered as
he ate. "I've learned from having sex with you why I feel the way
I do about sex with
another man, but I don't know if I could really fall in love with a
man."

"How did you feel when you tried to seduce Carla?" I asked, reflecting
back on what he had said about his encounter with her.

"Frustrated as hell when she wouldn't let me do anything, but I didn't
love her. Hell, I really don't like her very much,"
he said, glancing around surreptitiously. "All, I wanted was to
fuck her, and
get my rocks off because that's what I thought she wanted," he
exclaimed
softly.

"If I remember right, Lyle, you said you had to jerk off as a result of
her refusing your advances."

"Yeah, she got me so hot that my cock and balls ached, and I had to
jerk off," he replied.

"Tell me, Lyle," I said watching his face for a reaction. "When
you started feeling like you wanted to fuck Tip, did you still want to
fuck Carla?"

"I did until last night," he answered grinning sheepishly. "I
wanted to fuck Carla but the more I thought about fucking her the more
I wondered what it would feel like to fuck a man's ass. Every
time I would see Tip naked, I'd get horny; but he wouldn't let
me fuck him. He always said my cock was too big, but your cock is
as big as
mine; and, after you got me horny and put spit and cum on my ass and
your
cock, it didn't hurt too much."

"You enjoyed it as much as I did?" I asked, glancing over his shoulder,
and seeing Tip and Dalton going into the bedroom.

"Yeah, I did, a lot," he replied, breathing deeply and looking into my
eyes, his shining as he relived his first experience of being fucked.

For a moment, memories of when Jerry had fucked me for the first time
flashed though my head, and I repeated what he had told me when we were
finished, "Now you know what it feels like when a man fucks a
man, and you will know what to do when you fuck someone who wants it
the way you did. Don't forget foreplay, Lyle. You don't
just want to just fuck
someone; animals do that. You want your partner to have the same
sensual feelings and desires that you do and to experience all of the
pleasure of giving themselves to you."

"Do you think that is why Carla wouldn't let me do it to her?" He
asked.

"It may have been; but, if you are really interested, why don't you try
again and see what happens?" I answered as I slid my chair back
from the table, and stood up.

"You gotta be kidding me," he exclaimed. "After last
night, I know what I want; and it isn't Carla," he said as he got
up, and
followed me to the bedroom.

"Hmmmmmm," I thought to myself. "After last night with Dalton,
Tip
might have something to say about what his brother wants."